


Somebody, Someday, Somewhere

by Joana789



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Domestic Boyfriends, Established Relationship, Even's POV, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Mentions of Even's Past, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 04, so be careful there, there's more to tag but i don't want to spoil it so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 21:30:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11495139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joana789/pseuds/Joana789
Summary: He thinks he could never get tired of it, of looking at Isak.Maybe that’s what love is. Looking at another person and never getting tired of the sight of them.orFive times Isak hugs Even, and one time he doesn't.





	Somebody, Someday, Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in literal months, so please forgive me if this is shitty. Also, it's 2 am.
> 
> A huge thank you to Amanda and Vany who did not complain even once when I kept diligently informing them how my progress on this fic was going using Snapchat throughout the last 3 days.
> 
> Hope you enjoy. Now I'm off to write the ChildhoodFriends! AU I'll probably never even post anywhere.

 

 _one_.

 If Even were to describe the sky, he’d have to think for a minute.

It’s a good night to watch it tonight, he thinks. He doesn’t know what time it is exactly, but it must be closer to sunrise than it would be to sunset at this point because Jonas has already stopped playing the guitar and everything Even can hear now are Eva’s giggles and Magnus’ occasional weird shrieks and Vilde’s loud chatter somewhere in the background of it all. He’s dimly aware that the fire they’d built is starting to get weaker and maybe someone should take care of it, but then again, it’s late, so if no one will, that’ll be okay, too.

And Even might not know anything about the stars, but he doesn’t need to know in order to appreciate, not really.

So he looks.

The moment stretches, lingers. For a second, he tries to count all the stars he can see — just an idea — but gets lost and gives up. Because why would you try to define something like the sky, anyway? Definitions take the charm away, Even thinks, make matters seem easier than they really are, remove all the complexity worth paying attention to.

Maybe some things are better off when left undefined.

So he lets the moments pass, slip through his fingers like sand because for once, there’s no hurry. Nowhere else to be, nothing else to take care of. At one point, the sound of quiet footsteps occurs to him, and then suddenly Isak sits next to him on the ground, slowly. Even smiles, sneaks his arm around his waist right away, almost a habit at this point. Isak leans further into his space.

They fit like two halves of one whole. It’s a nice thought.

”Hi,” Isak says and only now does Even notice a beer he's holding out to him, half empty already, so he takes it. Isak sounds a little tired, a little weary. He wants to ask, for a moment, but then doesn’t.

”Hi, baby,” Even greets him instead, plants a quick kiss on Isak’s temple to mark the words. ”Where have you gone?”

”To get this,” Isak motions at the beer. ”Also, Mahdi and I had a very deep conversation about bisexuality. But don’t ask why he chose me to discuss that with.”

It makes Even smile.

”Well, maybe he wanted to educate you,” he says. Isak scoffs at the words.

”Nah, I think he was just pretty high.” Even can’t help but laugh at that a little, and it coaxes a smile out of Isak, too. Even feels him shrug. ”Gotta love the trips to Eva’s cabin.”

”I think it’s nice,” he admits quietly, maybe a couple of seconds too late to brush it off as casual, because really — he does. It’s beautiful here, the air is clean and crisp in the morning and vibrant with warmth in the evening, and the people he loves the most are all here with him and he gets to listen to them sing weird songs and laugh and comment on shitty movies and tease him and Isak for making out in the kitchen instead of making breakfast, and really — it’s nice. It’s a first; he’s never really had something like that before, he doesn’t think.

Isak hums, either in agreement or in contemplation, and rests his head on Even’s shoulder, takes his hand in his own.

”It is,” he admits, lacing their fingers together, sharing warmth. His words mix with the air around. Then, a stretch of silence later, ”Especially since you’re here now.”

And maybe that’s it, Even thinks. That’s the thing, about being with Isak.

That Even can get used to some things — to kissing him in the schoolyard and in classrooms, to listening to him complain about his teachers, to watching shitty action movies because that’s what Isak likes. And some things might even start to become a habit, like holding his hand and waiting by his locker after class and drawing little comics for him that Isak all saves, every single one.

But Isak telling him — saying _I love you_ or _I’m glad you’re here_ or yet something else that makes Even feel as if the world stops spinning for a second — he’ll never get used to _that_.

It feels like a beginning of something new, every time.

And then, Isak says, ”What were you thinking about?”

Even blinks, lets the thoughts dissolve. ”Hm?”

”Before I came, what were you thinking about?” Isak brushes his thumb over Even’s knuckles to accompany the question. It’s such a small gesture, Even thinks idly. It sends shivers down his spine. ”You looked like you were thinking about something.”

”I was watching the stars,” he says, glances up again. It’s like trying to read a map of a place he’s never heard of before. The stars blink down at him, bright.

”Really?” Isak hums, lifts his head from Even’s shoulder and looks up, too. Even can see the outline of his profile in the half-dark that surrounds them.

”They’re beautiful,” he says, and means it. ”Too bad I don’t know anything about them.”

”Why am I not surprised,” Isak deadpans, but then a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth gives him out. ”My boyfriend’s knowledge of the stars really comes down to _they’re_ _beautiful_. I should be proud.”

”I don’t need to know anything if I just want to appreciate,” Even says, then frowns when Isak raises his eyebrows at him. ”Excuse me, but I thought you were into biology, not physics.”

”Excuse me, but who said I can’t be into both,” Isak counters, leaning into Even a little more.

Even smiles in response, says, ”Yeah, you can,” and it’s enough. The silence settles.

He can still hear their friends somewhere behind, but they seem quieter, all of a sudden, as if further away than they really are. The air is warm. Isak’s skin is warm, too, against Even’s, hand in hand, fingers tangled loosely. It’s a good place, Even thinks. The right time, too.

It’s so weird, how easy feeling at peace seems.

”I could tell you about them,” Isak tells him after a while, resting his head on Even’s shoulder again. He lets go of Even’s hand, sneaks his arm around his waist instead, a half-hug. Even presses a kiss into his hair. ”The stars. If you want to.”

”Okay,” Even says. ”How about you’ll teach me about the stars and then I’ll teach you about bi erasure so you know what to tell Mahdi the next time he asks.”

Isak laughs quietly. It’s a private sort of laugh, one that lingers. ”Sounds fair.”

So he raises his arm and points at the sky, says, ”Okay, then, back to the basics. Here we go.”

Even listens.

 

 

 

 _two_.

When Even wakes, it’s still pitch-black dark outside, and the world is quiet and slow, and it’s too late to be awake, or too early, maybe. The world saves the energy for when the daylight comes again. The world sleeps.

Their bedroom is a place outside of it all, for a moment — the moment it takes Even to get through the haze in his mind, the moment he needs to keep his eyes open. The dark seeps in through the windows, but then Even’s sight gets used to it and it doesn’t seem as overwhelming as it did just a minute ago. He likes that about the night, he thinks. The fact that it lessens.

(It doesn’t always, though, and that’s something he hates, if he’s being honest. When the dark doesn’t feel like the opposite of light, merely, but more like a wall of sorts instead, a weight solid and crushing and suffocating. Sometimes, it feels like the dark around him gets into his mind, affects him, envelopes. Sometimes, it’s as if the dark from his mind escapes into the reality, outside, until it’s hard to say where one ends and the other begins.)

So he gradually becomes aware of some things, like the sound of the clock ticking, like the shapes he can just make out in the shadows — the desk, the lamp, the books. The warmth under the covers. And Isak, next to him.

That’s another thing he likes about the night.

This. An arm slung across his waist, steady breathing, peaceful expression. Isak’s weight dipping the mattress, next to him, and his skin pressed against Even’s skin. It’s nice, like this. Having the boy he loves in his arms every night when he goes to bed and every morning when he wakes up. It’s a thing worth paying attention to.

Even turns a little, wanting to face Isak properly, and looks.

Isak’s face seems different in the dark now, and Even looks for a proper word to describe it. Unguarded is the first one that comes to him. Then, peaceful. Serene. And beautiful, too, because this boy is always beautiful, at all times.

He blinks lazily, then wonders, in the back of his mind, how come this is all true.

Even traces Isak’s features, one by one — the arch of his nose, his eyebrows, lips, eyelids, dark eyelashes, messy hair covering his forehead. He traces all of them with his gaze, at first, but then comes the touch, barely there, gentle, with only his fingertips, because Even doesn’t want to wake him, he just wants to—

He doesn’t know what he wants. It’s too early for that, or too late, and he doesn’t need an excuse, not really.

So the minutes blend together. The windows are shut and it’s warm in the room, and Even doesn’t mind. He brushes his fingers through Isak’s hair, slowly, carefully traces the line of his jaw, counts his eyelashes. He thinks he could never get tired of it, of looking at Isak.

Maybe that’s what love is. Looking at another person and never getting tired of the sight of them.

Isak makes a soft noise in his sleep and his brows furrow slightly, so Even traces that, too, gently smoothes the crease out. He wishes he could do that in everyday life, too — wipe the worries away, all the burdens, and the frowns. It would be a good ability to have.

But then Isak stirs a little, makes another noise, and his hand tightens on Even’s waist just slightly.

”Even?” he mumbles into the pillow, words barely recognizable. Even’s hand stills on the back of Isak’s neck.

”Hi, handsome,” Even whispers back, just as quietly. ”Sorry I woke you up.”

Isak hums at that, sighs. His words blend together when he speaks again after a moment, heavy with sleep. ”Why are you awake? It’s not morning.”

It makes Even smile, just a little. ”I couldn’t sleep.”

At that, Isak’s brows furrow again. His eyelids slowly flutter open, as if reluctantly, but when he looks at Even, there’s something steady about his gaze. ”Are you okay?”

Even knows what he means, so he just answers, ”Yeah. Don’t worry.”

And Isak looks at him a second longer, but then his eyes close again.

”Okay,” he says into the night.

Then, as if involuntarily, he snuggles closer to Even, wraps his arms firmer around his waist, curls into him until his head rests on Even’s chest. Even feels him breathe in, breathe out.

”Go to sleep,” Isak tells him after a moment, words almost lost in Even’s t-shirt. ”Sleep is good for you.”

Even smiles. ”Yes, doctor Valtersen,” he says, presses one, two kisses to the top of his head. ”You’re absolutely right.”

”I am,” comes the drowsy response. ”I’m going to listen to your heartbeat until you fall asleep.”

Even threads his fingers through Isak’s hair again, whispers, ”Okay. Thank you.”

Isak falls asleep a minute later, breath evening out, and Even thinks that if he could capture this moment and save it forever, he would.

 

 

 

 _three_.

Even thinks about it, from time to time.

*

Not many people know about his past. Even likes to think that there’s not much to talk about in the first place, but the truth is that maybe there’s too much to talk about. So it’s easier to stay silent. His parents know, and Sonja knew, and he thinks some people at Bakka knew as well. Mikael, maybe. Elias. And that would be that.

There are lots of things Even doesn’t say and never talks about, but a lot of things he thinks of, mulls over in his mind, things that eat away at him if he lets them get too close.

When he thinks about them, he often thinks about Isak, too.

*

Because he’s going to tell him, sometime. Tomorrow, maybe, or the day after that, or next week or next month. Even will tell him, he promises himself, sometime in the future, on a day when he wakes up and feels a little stronger than he does now, a little steadier, on a day when he feels ready, although he knows — no one ever really feels ready for those things.

Things like that make you tired, and heavy.

Things like that make you _age_.

Even is not ready to do that to Isak, although he’ll have to be, one day. He’ll whisper the words into the sooty, pitch black inside of their bedroom, or living room, because it will be easier to let the words hang in the darkness than it would be in the daylight. Maybe the night will make them sound less real. Maybe the night will make them seem less true.

”What are you thinking about?” Isak mutters, and Even can feel the words on his neck.

It’s a thing they do, sometimes, murmuring the words into each other’s skin. If they whisper them carefully enough, Even finds, it almost feels like they could stay with them longer. Isak usually answers ” _biology_ ” or ” _food_ ” or doesn’t reply at all, just kisses Even instead and those are Even’s favorite answers, if he’s being honest. Even usually replies with ” _my_ _parents_ ” or ” _school_ ” or smiles at Isak brightly until he blushes.

Right now, he wants to tell him ” _my_ _past_ ” and ” _my_ _mind_ ” and ” _you_ ”.

He doesn’t say a word.

*

And when Even tells him, eventually, it’s nothing like he imagined.

It’s not the night. And he’s not ready, not ready, not ready at all, but he can’t keep it in anymore, either, so instead he just lets go. He and Isak are sitting on the old couch in their tiny living room and the sun is setting outside, coloring the room red and orange and yellow, and Even wishes all the colors would seep away, just for a second, wishes they left the space black and white. Maybe that would make it all easier.

Even thinks Isak knows something’s coming. He’s smart, and he knows some parts of it all already, some from before the fight and some from after it, although those are only bits and pieces, too little of them to get the full picture. Isak’s tense where he sits down next to him. His eyes are searching, bright.

He deserves the whole truth. Nothing less.

So Even licks his lips, takes a breath. Steadies himself. He has never been especially good at being steady, but he’ll try, now. His hands might be shaking just a little and his chest might feel too tight, but he’ll do what he can.

It’s all blunt, curt. Not graceful at all; there’s nothing graceful about this.

”I tried to kill myself,” he says eventually. His voice comes out small, and the words burn in his throat. ”Before.”

And there’s no right way to react to words like that. There’s no wrong way, either. Isak’s face is blank for a second and then slowly crumples, like paper. Even watches his eyes get glossy and wide, watches his lips part, although no sound comes out.

And then he talks.

Says it all. What he tried to do, what came out of it, how it all ended eventually. Tells Isak about the mess in his head back then, how his thoughts felt like somebody else’s, brighter, darker, everything at once. How he couldn’t escape them. _Alone in your head_. They’d talked about this.

”I’m sorry,” he says, eventually, on an exhale of it all. ”I’m sorry.”

And Isak looks at him, then shakes his head.

”No,” he says, small, and gets up, and Even doesn’t even have time to think because then Isak’s in his lap, arms strong around him, suddenly, face pressed into his neck, skin pressed into his skin. ”No, don’t apologize.”

His voice is too quiet, much like Even’s own, and doesn’t sound right. Even brings his arms around him, feels Isak’s lips against his skin, feels his ragged breathing, as if he’s crying. He wonders if Isak did this to hide his tears, maybe. If he did it so that Even could hide his own.

He’s tired. Like the past wore him out.

”I’m so lucky I met you,” Isak tells him and his arms tighten around Even’s body. It’s a strong embrace. Even lets himself melt into it. ”I’m so lucky to have you.”

And it feels good, not to be the one holding other people up, for once. It’s a relief of sorts, discovering that Even has someone who’d hold him up, too, now.

”I owed you this,” he says. ”I owed you this much at least.”

”You didn’t,” is Isak’s response. He presses his lips to Even’s neck when he can reach, rubs his back, breathes.

”I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I should have.”

Isak shakes his head again, a movement barely there.

”It’s okay, Even,” he says. Even watches the oranges and yellows and reds slowly melt away from the room, like he wanted them to. ”It’s okay.”

Even closes his eyes to keep the thoughts at bay.

He wishes he could feel things one at a time. It would be a good ability to have.

 

 

  
_four_.

Isak talks a lot, these days. He’s never been too quiet, not since Even’s known him, anyway, but he had his moments. In the evenings, sometimes, or at parties, in the crowds, when he thought that nobody was looking, that nobody would notice.

Even always did, but that’s understandable, he thinks. That’s his thing.

So Isak talks. About his classes, and homework, and assignments he has to take care of. About Jonas’ new skateboard and Magnus’ weird dreams and Mahdi being weirdly distracted by something, lately. About a party on Friday he doesn’t really want to go to, a science museum exhibition he’d really like to see, about how terrible this last romantic comedy they saw together was, how he’d rather watch _Transformers_ again next time. Sometimes, he talks about weird scientific facts that Even doesn’t really understand much about but listens to either way.

But he doesn't talk about his parents.

Even has met them both, some time ago — it was a family dinner, the first one in a long time, Isak had told him. An important thing to all of them, and it went okay. It was on one of Even’s good days, and on one of Isak’s mother good days, too, and maybe it was just everyone’s good day, back then.

Isak’s father was nice, polite, if a little awkward, and he played it safe — asked about school, about Even’s parents, his hobbies, plans, and Even thinks about him as a man with a firm handshake and a firm voice now. Isak’s mother turned out to have a bright laugh and bright eyes, and she moved around them quickly, swiftly, like a dancer of sorts. Even liked that. Isak has her smile.

And if Isak held Even’s hand in a tight grip for the majority of that night, well — nobody has to know about that.

*

So Even knows Isak’s parents, but he doesn’t know what happened between them, not really.

Isak told him things, but those were vague, like pictures blurred on purpose — something about his mom’s illness, a mention of his dad from time to time, about the money he sends him for rent or the calls he gets from him occasionally. Scattered details, Even calls them in his head. It’s like Isak’s introducing him to his parents all over again, just little by little this time, on his own terms. It’s like Isak’s adjusting, too.

Even gets that. The past is a difficult thing to deal with, and it can get under your skin. And for Isak, the past is where his parents are, too. He’s only now learning how to let them into the present again.

Even’s not going to disrupt the process.

*

Things happen, though. That’s what it all comes down to, ultimately.

One minute they’re walking down the street, Even talking about his day at work today, hand in hand, and the next Isak slows down, weirdly, then stops altogether. Even walks a couple of steps without him before he realizes.

Isak’s looking at something ahead.

”Isak?” he asks, frowning, but the boy just tenses, so Even turns his head, eyes searching.

There’s not a lot of people one the street today. Isak’s father is easy to spot in the crowd.

He’s walking bit farther down the pavement, far enough to not see them, probably. Even doesn’t recognize him at first, needs a couple of seconds to match the image to a name, but he manages, eventually. There’s a woman at his side. They’re holding hands, and it’s not Isak’s mom. The woman is laughing at something, and it makes Isak’s dad smile widely.

Isak stares at them until they round the corner and disappear, and then swallows audibly.

”Sorry,” he says, closing his eyes for just a second, like he’s trying to get rid of the image. His jaw is tense. ”Let’s just… Let’s just go.”

He licks his lips but doesn’t move an inch.

”Hey,” Even says, and he doesn’t know when Isak let go of his hand, but he takes it again. ”Hey, Isak.”

”That was… Well, fuck, you saw,” Isak says, probably meaning to sound nonchalant, but it doesn’t work out much. Even tries to catch his gaze. ”His new wife. Girlfriend. New _someone_ , anyway. He wanted me to meet her, but I…couldn’t.”

”That’s okay,” Even tells him, puts a hand at the nape of Isak’s neck. That makes him look up.

Isak seems tired, for just a second. It’s more than he usually lets people see. And Even knows he’s doing his best, knows he made up with his mom, but has a feeling that this is a bigger issue, the one with his dad. Complicated. And Isak’s trying, but it’s not easy. That much is clear.

So he pulls him into a hug, right there in the middle of the street, and is not really surprised when Isak wraps his arms around him tightly, buries his face in Even’s neck.

”Sorry,” he says again, breathes in, then exhales, like he wants the tension to leave his body along with the air. ”That’s so stupid. I just… didn’t expect that.”

”That’s not stupid,” Even tells him. It feels important that he knows. That he remembers. ”That’s not stupid, okay?”

”Okay.” He feels Isak sigh after a moment. ”Okay. Thank you.”

Even lets him go, and Isak still looks a little too serious for his liking, as if something’s weighing him down, but they have time to work on that. He kisses him quickly — once, twice, until the corners of Isak’s mouth twitch upwards.

He tells him, ”You’re welcome."

 

 

  
_five_.

The Saturday morning finds them in the kitchen this week. It’s a little past 10 am, and the sun is coming in through the window, and the radio is playing in the background. Even is making breakfast.

Isak is there, too, miraculously. Usually, he doesn’t leave the bed until noon, but right now he’s sitting on the countertop and glances at whatever’s Even doing every five minutes. He’s still in his pyjamas and his hair is a mess, and Even thinks that there’s something stunning, about all this.

”On a scale of one to ten,” he asks, and Isak looks away from the window, peers at him, ”how good do you think my cooking is?”

Isak bites his lip and thinks for a second, then says, ”Seven.”

And that — that makes Even stop mid-move and gape at him in pretended shock.

”What?” he gasps, stepping away from the stove. ”You are hurting my feelings right now, Isak. Excuse me, but if I get a seven, then who gets a ten?”

A grin blooms on Isak’s face. ”I do.”

And honestly, he should have seen that coming. Even raises his eyebrows at him, has to bite his lip to keep himself from smiling. ” _Really_? And why is that?”

”Of course,” Isak tells him in response, tilts his head a little, shrugging. ”I’m the best chef in the city, you know. I just never told you.”

”Why do I always do all the cooking, then?” Even says, and the smile breaks out on its own. He can’t help it, really. Not when they both know Isak can barely make _tea_. ”If you’re so good?”

Isak grabs at Even’s t-shirt, then, pulls at it until Even comes closer, stands between his legs. They’re almost the same height, like this. Even looks at him, brushes his hair away from his eyes, places a hand on his hip.

”I just don’t want to steal the show. Want to make you feel appreciated,” is Isak’s answer, and his smile grows softer, somewhat, as he adds, ”You deserve that.”

He wraps his arms around Even’s neck, then, and Even smiles at him, strokes his cheek.

If he could choose a moment he could bottle up and save from the world, he would choose this one, he thinks. So that no one can ever ruin it, so that nothing can spoil it, so that it can be secure. Because that’s their set. This — their tiny apartment, the messy bedroom, the cluttered kitchen, music in the background, the sun filtering through. It’s a small one, but it’s enough. For the two of them, it’s more than enough.

A quicker song comes up on the radio, then, and Even grins, sways his hips a little, and is immediately stopped.

”No,” Isak tells him bluntly. ”No dancing before noon, Even. It’s too early for this.”

”Come on,” Even laughs, but Isak just pulls him closer, refuses to budge, moves his hand to Even’s waist. ”It’s a good song!”

Isak rolls his eyes.

”It’s fucking Whitney Houston,” he says. ”This song is probably older than the queen of England or something.”

”I’m pretty sure that it’s not.”

”You are so uncool,” Isak tells him, and Even kind of wants to get offended, but then Isak slips a hand under his shirt and it’s not that important anymore. ”You are the most uncool person I know.”

Even presses Isak closer, presses his lips to the corner of his mouth, whispers, ”I feel flattered.”

”Hm, you should,” Isak says with a smile, and kisses him.

It’s slow and unhurried, and it sends a shiver through Even’s body. Isak moves one hand to his back, traces the line of his spine with his fingertips, then grips his shoulder with the other, tilts his head, closes his eyes. Even breathes against him, chest to chest, and pulls him closer, feels Isak’s thighs tremble when he pulls at his hair just a little. A groan catches in his throat.

”So,” Isak says when they part, and he sounds just slightly out of breath, ”what’s your plan for today?”

Even smiles at him, presses a kiss to his cheek.

”I’d like to eat breakfast,” he tells him, pulls back, strokes the line of his jaw, ”and then possibly get my boyfriend naked.” A kiss pressed to his temple. ”Maybe go back to bed for a while.”

Isak parts his lips just slightly, looks at Even with a bright gaze and his eyes drop to Even’s mouth, then dart back up. ”Sounds like a nice plan.”

Even grins, tells him, ”It is.”

 

 

  
_plus_ _one_

Even is not going to propose to Isak.

It’s a promise he made to himself.

*

He wants to, is the thing. He really wants to.

He thinks about it, sometimes, about how it would be. How he’d plan it all, buy a ring, book a table at a restaurant, get down on one knee. Like in a movie. There would be lights, and music, and a breathtaking view somewhere, maybe. He’d write a script in his mind and then follow it closely, and it would work out perfectly, like it usually does in movies, and Even likes those thoughts. They’re nice.

But he won’t do that.

He’s not good at it all, is the thing — at making decisions. For himself, but for others, too, and maybe no one is good at that, maybe no one is ever sure if the choice they’re making is right, maybe that’s how it all works. But Even can get by when it comes to _him_ , only — he can choose what he wants to study, or where he wants to work, or how he wants to style his hair — but those choices are his because they affect him, only. It’s safe, choosing like that.

But he can’t choose for others. He’d made enough bad, instinctive choices in the past, and he’d hurt enough people, and he won’t do that to Isak, not again. Not when Isak talks about changes, and possibilities, and parallel universes, talks about how every decision you make matters, how it carries on into the future, how it affects you, other people, the world.

Even’s scared.

So, he’d like to. But the words get heavy when you say them out loud, he thinks, they carry a certain weight every time — so it’s safer to only repeat them in his head. Not as dangerous.

*

Even most often thinks about it as he looks at Isak when he’s not paying attention. It’s during some everyday stuff, mostly — during silly things, like grocery shopping, or folding the laundry, or when they brush their teeth before going to sleep. The words burn in his throat, then, but he does not let them out.

He kisses Isak goodnight instead, or good morning, watches him smile, thinks, _that’s enough_.

*

Even really likes doing nothing.

It’s relaxing, and a nice change of pace. He likes it when someone asks him what he plans on doing when he gets back home and he can answer, ” _Nothing in particular_.” He likes not having plans. Parties are cool, and he loves their friends, but it’s good, every once in a while, to lay down on the couch, listen to his boyfriend’s steady breathing next to him and do nothing, think about nothing.

It’s not often that he gets this kind of serenity to enjoy.

Isak is laying on top of him, because that’s how small their couch is, but he is a pleasant weight, nothing Even wouldn’t be used to by now. It’s late, and he’s warm, and at first Even watches him as he counts the stripes on Even’s shirt until he gets lost in the numbers, lazily plays with Even’s fingers, but then he just closes his eyes.

If somebody told him six months ago that he’d have _this_ , he wouldn’t believe them for a second.

So Even listens to Isak, to the quiet rustle of their clothes, to a bird singing a song outside the window and lets the seconds melt into minutes, lets the time pass. He’s not going anywhere, anyway. This is where he stays. His mind slows down, like it rarely does, and maybe that’s something to appreciate, too, in this moment.

He feels Isak move, turn a little, and then hears him say, ”I love you.”

He hums in response, presses Isak firmer against his chest, then opens his eyes.

Even looks at Isak, and there’s something in his eyes, now, in his features, that wasn’t there a moment ago. He doesn’t know what to call it. He likes to think he can read Isak like a book now, that it’s easy, but sometimes it really isn’t. Even wonders, at times, if he’ll ever really figure this boy out.

Isak sits up, slowly, almost carefully, and it makes Even grunt, ”Where are you going, baby?”

But Isak only licks his lips, then, nervously looks down at his hands for a second, looks back up, and then says, ”Marry me.”

The world stops for a second before it starts spinning again.

Even sits up, too, on autopilot, because the universe shrinks, then expands, and it takes his breath away. All the thoughts in his head disappear between one breath and the next and Even wants to say something, but Isak doesn’t give him the chance to.

”I know that we’re young,” he says, looking straight at Even, and a part of his mind thinks it’s very brave. ”I know that we don’t have money, and live in some crappy apartment, and have no idea what’ll happen in the future but I don’t care. I really don’t care. I would go anywhere if it meant I get to be with you.”

Isak is tense. His hands are shaking a little, but his voice is steady, and the look in his eyes is, too. He knows what he’s doing, Even thinks. He knows what he’s saying.

”I love you,” Isak says, picks up again after a couple of seconds, and Even’s heart swells in his chest. ”I love you so damn much, and I want to be with you, in any way I can and in every way I can, and we don’t have to do this tomorrow, or next week, or next month, but one day — please marry me.”

The words ring in the air, and Even looks at Isak longer than he should without saying anything, he knows. But then he takes his hand, and presses it to his lips, and thinks — this is not how he would’ve done it. Isak doesn’t have a ring, and they’re sitting on their small couch, in their tiny apartment on a random afternoon, and it’s so _perfect_ Even’s heart is about to burst out of his chest.

He says _yes_.

**Author's Note:**

> come hmu on [tumblr](http://sanasbakkcush.tumblr.com)


End file.
